Scorched Flesh

by Ian Woodhead

  He’d put his body to good use, and it showed. He might look like a big soft pudding, no doubt reinforced with his tendency to wear the nerdy clothing, but I’ve witnessed the man change from teddy bear to grizzly bear in the blink of an eye, and I’m telling you now, it’s fucking terrifying.

  “I think that today is going to turn out to be a little better than the usual run of the mill Saturdays, dad.” I used the side of the fork to cut the first sausage into three pieces, stabbed the largest piece, and dipped it into the beans. “Mark Walsh has no board to pay this week, and he has overtime money. Whether he likes it or not, he’s going to share the with his best buddy.” I pushed the sausage into my mouth, and moaned with delight. I groaned a little louder when Basil began to whine. “So, the first port of call will be to the pub,” I said, after I swallowed the meat. “Then I think he’ll treat me by taking me up to the bowling alley; that is, if we can stand up.” I smiled. “Yeah, sounds like the makings of a spectacular Saturday.”

  “And that tells me you’re going to be in no fit state to do anything in a few more hours, meaning you’ll be in a similar condition to as you are now, twenty four hours later. Not that it matters, he doesn’t open on a Sunday. This means you’ll have to repay my kindness this morning, I think.”

  He reached into his back pocket and pulled out his battered brown leather wallet. So much for his promise to mum about throwing that old thing in the bin. She bought him a new one last week, decorated in Spiderman logos. After all that time married to the man, you would have thought that she would know that he had no love for super heroes.

  “As you’re heading into town, you can pop into the model shop for me, Travis.”

  I fixed him a painted grin, whilst my heart began its decent into my guts. Of all the places in our quaint town of Lorchester, that was the one shop that I detested with a passion. Tileman’s Crafts and Hobbies was located at the other side of town, close to the new shopping mall. The distance and location meant that we wouldn’t be going anywhere close en route. The Black Swan and the bowling alley were at the other side of town.

  The distance wasn’t the issue here, nor did I have a problem with the shop’s clientele. Oh sure, I’ll admit that it did feel a little weird to watch grown men hand over ridiculous amounts of money for a box of plastic bits, but I’m cool with that, and if it made them happy, then fine, each to their own.

  My beef was with the freaky old bastard who owned the poky little hole, Mr Stephen Tileman. Even thinking his name curdled my bone marrow. He’d been creeping me out ever since dad took me in there, back when I was still in short pants. His cold green eyes followed you around the shop, and it felt like he wanted to peel away your soul layer by layer. At least, that’s how it felt when he used to look at me; as I grew, his stare didn’t linger so much.

  As I got older and my hormones jumped out of their cupboard, it become very clear to me that Tileman wasn’t interested in peeling away my soul, it was my clothes that he wanted to remove. Of course, I was the only one who knew this, I think. After all, none of my mates had a clue about my dad’s favourite shops. I guess they’d have passed it a few times, but what possible reason would they have to go inside? I mean, just how many kids and teens do you know who builds up plastic model kits nowadays?

  Tileman and my dad gave the outward impression of getting on like a house on fire. Then again, that was to be expected. After all, they both had their chosen subjects of geekdom to fawn over. I’ve listened in to their talks on a few occasions. None of what they spoke about made any sense to me. If dad had noticed anything odd in the other man’s deviant behaviour, he never gave any sign of it to me.

  I knew that they were both the same age, and went to school together. Apart from that and their shared interest in science fiction, they had little else in common. Whereas my dad sported a six foot, lean and muscular frame, basically a body that could even melt my female mates, Tileman looked like a spacehopper, one that had been dipped in old bacon grease or even raw sewage. As far as I knew, Tileman lived on his own. Not that it surprised me, I doubted that anything animal or human would be able to stand his presence for more than a few minutes.

  I’ve never once made mention of my suspicions to anyone else, although I did once promise to conduct a little covert surveillance on his shop and house. Not that I ever went through with it. I was just past fifteen at the time I made that vow, and a month after my birthday those hormones of mine took centre stage, filling my head with girls and beer. The notion of playing spy went straight out of my head.

  My dad took a couple of twenties out of his wallet, and placed them on the edge of the table. He nudged Basil away when the dog’s mouth reached for them. “Mr Tileman emailed me this morning. It appears that my Star Trek Enterprise B has finally arrived. About time as well, I’ve only been waiting for the bugger for almost two months.”

  I stared aghast at the two crisp notes on the table, and shifted my attention to him. “That’s forty pounds, father. You do know that mum’s head will detonate if she knew that you were spending that amount of cash on a box of plastic.”

  “Only half of that is for the model, son. The rest is for you. It’s only the Enterprise B, not the E”

  He held up his hand when I opened my mouth.

  “Wait, I haven’t finished yet, Travis. Believe it or not, I’m well aware of your friend’s sudden windfall. Somehow though, I very much doubt that the young man will be waking up to a thick wallet, not after watching the pair of you act like complete dickheads in the early hours of this morning.”

  I blinked rapidly, trying my hardest to remember stumbling into the house last night. My efforts were met with a fuzzy white wall of bugger all. The more I thought, the more I realised that I couldn’t remember much of anything. That shook me up, just how much beer had I sank? I’ve never suffered a memory loss after a night out. “Dad, don’t just stand there grinning. Share the details. Tell me how much bother I really am in with mum.”

  He spread his arms. “What is there to say, Travis? You both stumbled through the front door at just past three, like normal. You managed to find your way to the couch, and made a lot of rude suggestions regarding Mark and Basil. You appeared to find this hilarious. As for mum, there’s no problem there. She took a double dose of sleeping tablets. Seriously, do you think she would have made you breakfast if she knew about the state of you?”

  I picked up the remaining sausage and squeezed the middle, it wasn’t that hot now. I held it out in front of me. “Sorry about my unsavoury remark from last night, Basil. Believe me, you’re way too classy for Mark.”

  The dog gently took the sausage out of my fingers, and retreated under the table to eat his prize.

  “And I’m sorry for acting like an arse, dad. I hope I didn’t wake you.”

  “Don’t worry about it, I was your age once. Besides, it’s not like I was sleeping. There were a couple of movies that I wanted to watch. Ironically, your antics were far more entertaining than the first film anyway, so no harm done.

  “I’d love to know what the hell your pal was singing about though. It sounded like he wanted to dance with a giant mushroom or something. By the way, when you do meet up with Mark, tell him he owes me a fiver for the taxi.”

  He picked up the money, and pushed it into the palm of my hand. “To be honest, I did kinda miss being your age. Reaching the happy drunk stage was always the sign of a good night out.” He sighed. “Thing is, getting happy drunk and staying at that stage was an impossible task, especially with the lads that I used to drink with.”

  I only heard about half of his rare conversation about his past. As soon as he mentioned the word mushrooms, a bank of freezing mist blasted through my fuddled mind. I picked up my fork, and chased a couple of beans around the congealing fat on the edge of my plate. For the life in me, I had no idea as to why that word should have affected me. I slid the plate to the side, silently thankful that mum hadn’t added any fried mushrooms to the breakfast.
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  “You won’t forget to pick up my model, will you?”

  “No dad, don’t worry,” I replied, shaking my head from side to side. “I won’t forget it.” I pushed the two notes into my back pocket and stood up. My only desire I had now was to kick Mark out of bed, and find out exactly what we got up to last night. I couldn’t shake the ominous feeling that something momentous had happened to us after leaving the pub.

  ***

  Is this what you expected? I guess not. You must think that I’m running off at the mouth here. I mean, here I am, relaying the single most important event in the entire annals of human history, and I’m babbling on about giving a dog a sausage, and my dad’s silly pastime. Yeah, well, you’re going to have to get used to it. This is how it’s going to be. I’m not going to rush this for anyone.

  You see, this is the first time that I’ve heard a human voice for weeks. It doesn’t matter to me that it’s only my voice. Believe it or not, I’m rather enjoying myself.

  I learned early on in my captivity that screaming, shouting, even talking, was bad for my health as well as sanity. My captors never cared about any of us making too much noise. Those bastards were the last of my worries. This orbiting ship, you see, had more than a few sentient species imprisoned inside its many cells. I vividly remember Basil catching a dose of fleas from a kennel that we had him in for a couple of weeks whilst the family went on holiday to the States. It took us bloody ages to shift the buggers.

  One of the other sentient lifeforms in here had brought with it their own flea variant. Try to imagine a flea the size of a marble; now I want you to imagine a few thousand of them squeezing their fat purple bodies through the vents located in the top corner of our tiny cells every time one of us screamed out. Needless to say, after a couple of attacks you learned to keep your mouth shut tight.

  The other aliens and their vile parasites were shipped out a few days ago. There’s only me left; they even removed the other human prisoners. There’s only me and my guards left. I guess I could make as much noise as I wished, but some habits are hard to break.

  ***

  I was glad that I decided to peek into the Black Swan before attempting to climb the steep hill that led to Mark’s house. The lad had claimed his usual spot, the cushioned seat that dominated the corner of the darkened room. Trust that pisshead to already be here. If it hadn’t been for dad telling me about the taxi, I wouldn’t have put it past him to have slept in front of the door. I decided not to bother telling Mark that I intended to call for him. The bastard would only find the whole experience hilarious.

  As I made my way over to the bar, I watched him poke his finger through the fake red leather covering and pull out a small lump of yellow foam. There was nobody else waiting, but that didn’t stop the tosser behind the bar taking his time to serve me. He obviously thought that watching the football on the crappy TV bolted to the wall above him was far more important than customer service.

  “Can I have a pint of your finest please, Steve?” I asked, getting more and more wound up. I leaned on the counter, and immediately regretted the action with I felt spilled beer soaking into my elbows. I wiped my wet elbows down the front of my jacket before dropping one of my dad’s notes onto the counter. Of course, I made damn sure that the twenty landed in another puddle of beer.

  I returned Steve’s glare with an innocent smile, watching with great amusement as he made a show of wringing out the tenner. If he did his job properly and wiped the counter, he wouldn’t have been in this position. He took his time to bring me my change, but I wasn’t too fussed, it gave the beer and my guts the chance to settle down.

  Mark managed to look up as I carefully brought my glass over to his table. I’ve known this man for most of my life, and counted him as my best friend. Sure, he only had the one eye, scales for skin, and an overbite that could open a beer bottle, but I found a way to overlook his deformities at an early age.

  I sat down opposite the lad, and gazed into those two bright green eyes. Okay, so maybe I exaggerated his appearance. Mark didn’t look like Quasimodo’s ugly brother. In fact, this guy could have easily ended up on the covers of a few of those men’s fashion magazines, if he tried. What dropped the anchor on that happening was the simple fact that Mark had the grooming habits of an old tramp. That tatty black leather biker’s jacket hadn’t left his back for the past five years. It lay open at the front to show off his oil stained green overall. He’d worn that last night as well, and knowing him, the filthy slob had slept in it as well.

  My best buddy worked at Lorchester’s only garage. Aside from his dashing good looks, he also had the unnerving knack to be able to fix almost anything mechanical. His dad used to say that Mark was born into this world with a spanner in his hand. His flair at fixing stuff was the only reason why the landlord of the Black Swan even allowed this scruffpot to sit in his pub. A couple of years ago, Mark had somehow managed to bring his condemned boiler back from the dead, saving the landlord a fortune in repair bills.

  I watched the lad drain his own pint, vaguely wondering if anyone had ever carbon dated the muck under Marks fingernails.

  “Don’t bother parking your arse, you big plum. You need to finish that pint, Travis. I’ll give you ten seconds. We need to make tracks.”

  “Are you having a laugh here? I’ve only just got the bugger.” I settled into the chair, and purposely took a small sip before placing the glass carefully on a wet beer mat. “What’s got into you? I need to take this pint nice and slow. Come on, you know the rules. After a decent drinking session, you feel as rough as a badger’s arse; consequently, it’s advised to savour the ‘hair of the dog.’ Look, don’t look at me like I’m gobbling sloppy poo. I’m not a rule breaker, you know that.” I took another sip, feeling a little bemused at the sight of my friend’s jittery behaviour. Not for the first time, it crossed my mind that Mark had been using something a little stronger than booze. “Mark, what’s wrong, why the big hurry? You look as though you’re about to shit your pants.”

  He got to his feet, and slammed both hands palms down on the table. “I need you to tell me exactly what you remember from last night.”

  I wrapped my fingers around the glass, feeling my blood cooling to the same temperature as the liquid inside. No matter how hard I tried, that fuzzy white fog hadn’t left me. I shook my head. “Nothing at all,” I whispered. I brought the beer to my lips, and drank deep. The urge to get pissed now became a most favourable option. It took me seconds to finish the pint. It looked as though I wasn’t going to savour it after all.

  Mark snatched the now empty glass out of my hands. “I knew you could do it.” He tossed it behind him. The depression left from thousands of bums sat in that corner, saved the beer glass from smashing on the hard floorboards.

  “I know what you want to do, Travis. I know because it’s what I wanted to do as soon as I looked at my reflection in the mirror, this morning.” He picked up his own glass. “Believe it, or not, this is my sixth pint since I got here, and it’s done fuck all to me.” He leaned closer. “Are you sure that you can’t remember anything?”

  I shook my head again. I had no idea where Mark wanted to go. Right at that moment, I didn’t want to go anywhere, apart from back to the bar. All I knew was with the change from that twenty, plus the other notes that I had in my wallet, I could get well and truly blitzed.

  Mark wrapped his powerful fingers around my elbow and dug those digits in. “No, Travis, get that idea out of your head right now. I can see the lust you’re showing for the vodka under the TV. Come on, I have other plans for you.”

  He spun me around, and pushed me over to the exit. I saw no point in struggling or arguing with him. To be honest, I was more confused than annoyed. I’d never seen the lad acting like this before. Having a rumble with my best buddy in my favourite pub was not how I’d originally planned to spend my Saturday.

  The freezing blast of air from a passing truck helped me snap out of the fugue that had dropped
over my head. I shook off Mark’s fingers, and leaned against the outside of the thick wooden pub door. I took a deep breath. “Okay, just what the fuck is going on here?”

  The bright sunlight showed me Mark’s face in its full glory, now that we were away from the pub’s dim lighting; it looked as though somebody had poked his eyes with a sharp stick. “Bloody hell, you look like you’ve tried to wash your peepers with thick bleach.”

  “Come on, man,” he urged. “You must be able to remember something. Come on, please, I need to know.”

  I shrugged. It seemed to be the safest response. I didn’t know what else to do. That fugue had descended yet again, for a different reason this time. His behaviour really was beginning to spook me. “”Look, my mind really is a blank, Mark.” I paused, not wanting to continue this conversation. I so wanted to tell the guy to take a fucking chill pill.

  “Does it really matter, man? Okay, so we both must have gotten pretty fucking wasted if neither of us can remember a damn thing. So what? It’s not as if we haven’t reached that state before. So there’s no reason to get all riled up just because we can’t remember.”

  I turned around, glad to look away from that tormented face, and peered through the pub window. I could see bugger all, but that didn’t matter. We would have spent most of the night in there last night, swapping our wages for pints of good ale. It’s the only pub in Lorchester that we really frequent. Unlike the others in town, The Black Swan only focussed on what really mattered, the ale. This meant the pub hadn’t refurbished since the last century, the music they played was older than my dad, and the locals were even older. Who cared about any of that when they served beer this good?